


Unravel

by ForgottenAngerCourter



Category: One Piece
Genre: Brothers, Doflamingo did love his brother, Gen, Grief, He does miss him, Hurt/Comfort, No Slash, Pre-Dressrosa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9523475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgottenAngerCourter/pseuds/ForgottenAngerCourter
Summary: Ever since that day- that pain filled horrifying day, Doflamingo vowed to purge himself of weakness. And he had almost succeeded; the things he did on a regular basis would have killed a lessor man, and his enemies cowered before him because Donquixote Doflamingo was a monster.It was a fact as true as the sky was blue.But the stink of cigarettes was in the air, and Doflamingo hated himself for not being able to look at the other side of the bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think of this story as cannon, but that is just my opinion.

Doflamingo never indulged this habit. Not only was it disgusting- it also brought up memories that he preferred not think about. But then there would be a day where he just could not stop himself.

Doflamingo inhaled deeply, and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. He felt his tense muscles relax as the familiar smell of cigarettes filled the room, and Doflamingo allowed his eyes to close.

He reclined on a bed that was too large, and hated himself for not picturing his bedroom in Dressrosa when his eyes closed. No, instead he saw wooden walls and a bed that while big, was not fit for the king he had become.

Doflamingo’s eyes flew open and a vein throbbed on his forehead- he violently stubbed out the cigarette, but the damage had been done. His room smelled like cigarettes, and Doflamingo was regretting his moment of weakness more than ever- because this smell…

It didn’t belong here.

**He** had never been in this room, never walked across this carpet. **He** had never sat on this bed and listened to Doflamingo talk about his day. And this bad habit of Doflamingo’s was such a _weakness_. Doflamingo prided himself on his ability to find his enemies weak points, and he took great pleasure in exploiting them.

Ever since that day- that pain filled horrifying day, Doflamingo vowed to purge himself of weakness. And he had almost succeeded; the things he did on a regular basis would have killed a lesser man, and his enemies cowered before him because Donquixote Doflamingo was a _monster_.  
It was a fact as true as the sky was blue.

But the stink of cigarettes was in the air, and Doflamingo hated himself for not being able to look at the other side of the bed. Because it would be empty, just as it had always been. Because **he** was not here, had never been here, and pretending was such a stupid thing to do when Doflamingo had things he _needed to do_.

Doflamingo was tense again, and battled against the need to get as far away from this smell as he could, and his need to just close his eyes and forget for a moment. Because Doflamingo was stressed, the monster was tired, and all he wanted were hands to rub his shoulders and back, and a warm body he could lean into and be held against. Doflamingo wanted his weakness back, and it disgusted him every time he allowed himself to acknowledge his want.

Doflamingo sighed as he ripped off his sunglasses and began rubbing violently at his temples. It did nothing to soothe him, and it pissed him off. If **he** had been here, **he** would have caught his hands and forced them away from his head. Doflamingo would have seen his face frowning down at him while his brown eyes filled with worry.

‘ _Don’t do that, you’ll only make it worse._ ’

Doflamingo felt pathetic.

Because despite not having memories of his brother’s voice in these moments, he knew exactly what he would have been thinking- knew exactly what his expressions would have meant. His little brother had always been so expressive, and such a horrible little liar.

That was why he had lived in silence. Because Doflamingo would have heard the lies in his voice, would have heard the guilt in every carefully thought-out word. Doflamingo would have known, because he knew his brother, just as Rosinante had known him.

Or maybe that was Doflamingo being weak again- he never could seem to stop it whenever that man was concerned. But this was a weakness Doflamingo would never be able to stop having, because the alternative would truly drive him mad.

If his little brother had learned how to lie to him, how to hide his disgust and hate- then all of those moments, all of those memories that Doflamingo pretended meant nothing- they would become tainted. And not even the Heavenly Demon could survive that reality.

Doflamingo could almost feel his hands on his back, trying to soothe away his worries, and Doflamingo allowed himself to forget such an idea. He banished it into the corners of his mind where it would stay until his next moment of weakness. Doflamingo pretended those hands reached for his waist, and that they were pulling him to lean against a soft body instead of a headboard.

Doflamingo was tired, and tomorrow would be troublesome. The papers tomorrow morning would start riots in the streets, and his business partners around the world will curse his name and become unreasonable with their future dealings, despite the 3 o’clock retraction that was going to be released.

What a mess Rocinante’s little brat had caused.

Doflamingo told him so, even if he was only talking to air- because Doflamingo needed to talk to someone. Roci had always been there to listen. He had always been waiting for him on their bed with open arms, and a gentle smile on his makeup free face. Doflamingo would allow himself to be coddled, caressed. Doflamingo would allow himself to relax, because Roci had been safe.

Roci had been, and always would be his heart. His Corazon, everything good and pure in this world

Even after all these years had passed, after more than a fucking decade, Doflamingo still felt shocked that his little brother could have betrayed him. The betrayal was as fresh today as it had been thirteen years ago- it was an open wound that Doflamingo had become quite good at ignoring. But it would always be there, because Doflamingo had _trusted_ him.

Doflamingo never trusted anyone, not even his own crewmates because they weren't his _family_. They didn’t know him, they weren't his equals- and they couldn’t be trusted. They could betray him; find someone else they thought to be more powerful- more charismatic. Maybe they’d find a little brat and decide that the brat was worth more than their ‘Doffy’.

God, Doflamingo wished that he could yell at them to never call him by that name again. Because **he** was the one who had been the first to call him that. A cherubic little baby who had not been able to pronounce his name, and who had clung to him so sweet and loving. And every time he heard it, every time- Doflamingo would see a little boy who cried when he tripped on air, a little boy who reached for his big brother because Doffy had always been there to catch him. But admitting that the stupid nickname had any power over him- had the power to make him angry, the power to put him off balance... that would be the same as admitting weakness, and that just would not do. So Doflamingo subtly encouraged them to call him ‘young master’ instead, and spent each and every day reinforcing their brainwashing to ensure that the likelihood of them betraying him was as near to zero as possible.

But it would never be zero. Doflamingo remembered, and he would never forget- the wound in his side would never heal. The only one who should not have been able to betray him, the only one who should have been at zero- he _had_ betrayed him.

“Roci you little bastard, how could you do that to me?”

As always, silence answered his question- and as irrational as it was, Doflamingo almost shouted at the air to answer him because he knew that Rosinante could talk. Had lied about it- had kept his voice hidden from him.

Doflamingo sighed irritably, and laid down with his back to the other side of the bed. He stared at the ashtray on his bedside table with it’s single stubbed cigarette. With a sigh, he admitted the truth to himself.

“It was my fault.”

Doflamingo hated admitting that he was wrong, that his plans had been flawed- it was something that never failed to irritate him. And it was only when he was indulging in his weakness, in his _need_ to have his brother beside him again, that Doffy could admit that this whole fucking mess was his fault.

“I left you behind, and those damn Marines took advantage of it.”

He should never have left his brother alone- should never have left him in the North Blue when he went to storm Mariejois. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, because Doffy had been convinced that they were going to try and kill him. He could defend himself, but Doffy had not been foolish enough to think that it would be easy. He was a child, and could barely control his Devil Fruit powers- he would live, but it would be the most difficult battle of his life. And the thought of taking his brother- his sweet innocent, _vulnerable_ little brother- had been unacceptable. So he had gone alone, promising to return as soon as possible even when Rosinante had cried and begged him not to leave.

“ _Don’t leave me alone! Doffy, Doffy don’t leave me-!_ ”

Doffy had kissed him goodbye as he wiped away his tears. He had vowed that the moment they accepted him, he was coming back for Roci- as soon as it was safe.

But while he he had been gone, his little brother was **taken** from him.

He should have had Trebol or Vergo watch him- should have told them about his little brother, but he had not been able to. His sweet little brother was _his;_ his to protect, his to love. Roci had been his weakness, and Doffy had not trusted them with something so fragile, so precious. They had not even known he had a brother.

And when Doflamingo had returned, more angry than he had ever been, he had stood in front of their empty, deserted house... and felt something new in his chest. In that moment, Doflamingo had known true despair, because his little brother was **gone**.

Doflamingo had thought him dead- thought that those damn villagers had found his defenseless little brother and ripped him to shreds.

Doflamingo slaughtered everyone on that island.

He killed each and every man woman and child because they had dared to be alive, dared to breath when his brother no longer could. And one of them had dared to kill him, harm him; one of those filthy beasts had laid hands on his brother who was the closest thing to an angel this world would ever fucking know.

You could have heard Doffy’s animalistic screams on every corner of that island, and soon after witnessing his blood rage, Trebol and Vergo became fanatic followers. With the island left to crumble into the sea, Doffy set out to burn the world; because it had taken the innocence, the goodness- it had stolen everything he cared about and dared to spit in his face. This world was going to pay for what it had done, and Doflamingo would show it no mercy.

“It was all my fault Roci.”

Doflamingo was tempted, oh so tempted, to make a string clone. To make a clone almost as tall as he was, wearing black feathers and a small smile.

But it wouldn’t be him- it wouldn’t be Rosinante and Doflamingo would end up destroying it, because it would dare to look like his brother while not being the real thing. He had tried it once, years ago. When the clone had opened it’s mouth and spoke the words Doffy had needed to hear in the **wrong voice** , Doflamingo had seen red. When he came out of his bloodlust, he found the clone mutilated beyond recognition, and the walls crumbling from his uncontrolled usage of Five Colored Strings.

Doflamingo shook himself out of his dark thoughts, and straightened his back. Using every bit of his formidable willpower, Doflamingo forced himself to look at the other side of the bed- to see the reality that no one there. He needed to accept that he was alone, had been for years, and then focus on the present. He needed to let go of his weakness and focus because things needed to be prepared- he needed to make sure everything was ready and-

And Rocinante was sitting next to him.

Doflamingo jumped off the bed, and backed away so quickly that he tripped over his own chair. His mind scrambled to find an explanation even as his heart tried to escape his chest- even as he began hyperventilating because he had not made a clone, and yet Rosinante was _here_. Doflamingo’s first thought was that he had finally gone too far, too deep into his own weakness. Doflamingo had finally gone mad, and he was strangely okay with that.

Rocinante leaned over the edge of the bed so that they could keep eye contact, and Doflamingo found himself drinking in the image before him greedily, even when he knew that what he was seeing was just a hallucination. It wasn’t real, but it damn well _looked_ real.

Rocinante was wearing a pink shirt that was too big for him and a pair of shorts that he liked to sleep in. His face was free of makeup, and beautifully perfect in every way- his floppy blonde hair fell into his eyes, and Rocinante absently pushed it out of his way. Then he smiled such a sad smile down at Doflamingo, a smile that had no business being on his sweet little brother’s face. His brother should never look so sad when looking at him- Rocinante stood from the bed and walked to him, and Doflamingo found himself shaking. He was unable to move a single inch, and he didn’t dare blink.

Rocinante kneeled down next to him, and reached out to touch his face. Doflamingo stopped breathing when he felt warm skin touch his own.

Rocinante cupped his cheek, absently rubbing his thumb along his skin, and then he smiled **the** smile. The smile that haunted Doflamingo’s dreams because that smile was so perfect- so loving, so genuine, so _sweet_. When Rocinante smiled that smile at him, Doflamingo had no doubts that Rocinante loved him. And Doflamingo had no doubts that he loved him too.

“Young Master!”

When Sugar knocked on the door Doflamingo glanced at it instinctively, and then the touch was gone. It had only been a second, maybe less, but that was all it had taken.

Doflamingo’s eyes locked onto the empty space in front of him with a detached sense of disbelief. Rocinante had just been there, he had smiled, he had _touched_ him- Doflamingo could have reached out to touch him and-

**Now he was gone**.

Doflamingo slowly stood up, his back to the door as Sugar entered the room, “Young Master-”

“ **Get out.** ”

Sugar’s mouth dropped open in shock at his low voice, and then she took in the way he was restlessly moving his hands- the tense curve of his back. If it had been anyone else, _anyone_ else, Doflamingo would have killed them. Would have had them screaming on the floor until they bled out from a thousand paper thin cuts-

But Sugar could not be killed, could not be harmed because if she so much as passed out, then all of these years- all of the effort Doflamingo had taken to get to this point... including killing his little brother, would have been for nothing.

But if she didn’t leave quickly- if Doflamingo so much as caught a glimpse of her, he would kill her anyway. He would lose the battle he was holding against his bloodlust because she **took him from me**.

When he couldn’t hear her footsteps- couldn’t hear the door closing, Doflamingo lost the battle against his voice,

**“GET OUT!”**

Sugar scrambled backwards and slammed the door shut behind her in her haste to escape. Doflamingo continued to roar behind the closed door, and soon the sounds of destruction followed. Within seconds, the room was completely destroyed, and Doflamingo was left sitting on his ripped up mattress holding his head in his hands. No tears- Doflamingo refused to shed them, even as it hit him just how _lonely_ he was.

He sat there, unmoving for several minutes- gathering up his composure even as he listened for the sounds of his crew. He wondered if they would dare to check on him, and he hoped that they would not. Doflamingo was unsettled by just how out of control his body felt. He felt like a body full of loose strings, and he itched to unravel himself and simply.. cease to exist for a moment.

After a few tense minutes, Doflamingo found himself laying down on the bed once more. He was exhausted; physically and emotionally, and Doflamingo refused to look at the other side of the bed. He could not look again- not tonight. His sanity would not be able to take not seeing Rocinante there.

Because tomorrow morning, like many of his mornings, he will wake up tangled on the opposite side of the bed gasping for air. For a moment, he will think that it had only been a nightmare. For a single blissful moment, Doflamingo will tell himself that it wasn’t real- that Roci was next to him and safe. He will reach out desperately to feel his body, to feel his warm skin and beating heart; and the feeling of cold sheets will crack his heart and mind just a little bit more.

Because Rosinante was dead.

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I hated Doflamingo. When I first watched the Dressrosa arc, I seriously wanted him to die.  
> But then I wondered 'what if'? What if he actually DID love his brother, as much as he was able to love anyone? So I read some fanfics, and I still kinda hate Doflamingo- but I understand him a lot better then I used too. 
> 
> I didn't write this to redeem what he has done- this isn't a redemption fic. This is just a... humanizing one I suppose.  
> Well, nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy this story, and once more I have no Beta. All mistakes are my own.


End file.
